I wonder what will
happen to me once
I forget that vanilla
hand cream smell
upon your soft skin.
I'll have to buy some,
though I don't like the feel
of it between my fingers.
I'll do it for you; for
your memory.
I'll drown in the
almost memory,
immersed in white
cream that used to
be your skin.
-Dragonette
YOU ARE READING
pride
PoetryAnd when she stood, she stood tall. She'll make a fool of you all. -u.k. (Non-Fiction: #28 Poetry: #74)